Viking Fanfare
by BigMammaLlama5
Summary: A brief look into what being in Marching Band is really about. *Elsanna but not related *M for very brief strong language befitting a college-age kid *includes other Disney character mentions


**Long AN, I'm sorry! You can skip if you like.**

**So… I was reading "A Date With the Drum Major" by Arendelle's Drum Major, and it made my eight years of Marching Band hit me like a MAC truck of nostalgia. I couldn't help it. I had to write a Frozen Marching Band Oneshot, I'm so sorry. Not really, but kinda.**

**This is in NO WAY related to the above-mentioned story, and I'm not even attempting to steal their thunder. I did reach out to the author, but haven't heard back… oh well. It was a niggling little idea that I had to get out of my system before I could even **_**begin**_** to focus on my other pieces…**

**This was written from purely my experiences that I had in Marching Band at a collegiate level for four years. I played Marching Baritone all through high school and for college; I was section leader my senior year, and I was even drum major in high school (which sucked balls because marching is so much more fun). I apologize in advance for any terms that some of you may not be familiar with, and I will be happy to answer any questions you may have. If you are curious, I attended East Carolina University and you can find videos of the 2010 and 2011 pregame shows. The one I am particularly referencing is from 2008 when I was a freshmen, but I have been unable to find that one on Youtube.**

Viking Fanfare

Elsa laughed jovially at the exclamation of triumph when one of her fellow baritone squad mates successfully wrestled his jammed mouthpiece out of his dinged instrument. The damned hunk of metal had been stuck since eight-thirty that morning during warm ups and it had driven the young man to near insanity. Her own shiny brass baritone was lying on its side in between her spread feet, slides facing up and the blue Kelly mouthpiece in her fist. It wasn't the instrument she had originally started on, choosing trumpet first nearly ten years ago as a preteen. The young woman had switched to baritone (or euphonium once she got to upper level) because of how her braces had painfully dug into her lips no matter how much wax she caked on. Her band director had just offered her the instrument one day with a blatant "_Here, this should be easier to play."_ The mousy woman had been correct, and Elsa never looked back. In fact, she had decided to stick with it, even joining the Marching Band for all four years of upper school. Her mother had asked if she wanted to do something more worthwhile, but that had just made her want to march more. Well, march and take her art classes. When she enrolled in Arendelle University, the first thing she did was make sure her art classes and gen-ed courses left just enough room in her maxed-out schedule for the Marching Band.

This was her third year marching for the Vikings, and if she played her cards right, she would have three more if she stayed to work for her Masters in Graphic Design (the concentration she was currently working for in her BFA course of study). She was surprisingly the most experienced marcher in her section even though she was just a Junior, but that didn't mean she was the oldest. They were a group of twelve, a strong and mellow tenor section to balance out the brashness of the seventeen trombones and support the low thrumming heartbeat of the twenty-three sousaphones. Above them soared the ten ethereal mellophones and higher yet to lead the brass were the twenty-eight trumpets. An army of thirty-six flutes and four piccolos closed ranks with the thirty-one squawking clarinets, sixteen alto saxophones (_saxomaphoooone says Homer Simpson_) and the thirteen lawnmowers that were trying to be tenor saxophones. A whole swarm of flag tossing, rifle chucking, dance enthused men and women that made up the color guard team of thirty-four were chatting it up with the University's Dancing Boots team of twenty. Lastly was a highly talented and douche-bag ridden drum line with twelve snares and a cymbal line of just as much, five quads, and a full base drum line of six. The head drum major and his assistants dressed in white were mechanically practicing off out of the way close to the large circle of snare players drumming on their thighs, carefully avoiding the hooks of their harnesses poking out from the bottom of their jacket fronts. Their director strode past her, his blue eyes glaring at his clipboard. He had a snowy magnificent bushy beard and a mane of hair just as large tied back in a low ponytail. His black suit pulled across his ridiculously broad back and he paused when he heard her squad mate's triumphant shout.

"Oi, Flynn. Get that thing unstuck yet?" He rumbled in his deep mellow baritone with a frown that made him look older than his fifty-four years.

"Oh hey, Dr. T! Yeah, just got it."

"Mhmm. Don't drop that thing again, you're stuck with it for the semester." With that last reprimand, Dr. Triton strode away towards the press box.

"_Don't drop that thing, you're stuck with it blah blah blah_ what the fuck ever. I know, I signed the damned contract at the beginning of band camp." The brass player groused once the hulking man was out of earshot.

"_God_ I'm glad band camp's over." Another man sighed, David from Hawaii. "I don't know how you survived it, Elsa. Ours was only eight days but you were here for _twelve_."

"Yeah, surely _mama b-tone_ had her patience snap at least once." The suave Flynn teased her with the widely known nickname. Her calming countenance and protective attitude over anyone in the band had earned her such a title.

"Oh… it wasn't terribly... okay it sucked. There wasn't anyone here until the fifth day. I was about to jump off the roof of the Library on the third."

"Yeah but-_Triton_." Flynn hissed, making Elsa roll her eyes. She didn't mind their band director at all, she thought he was actually really cool. The fact that he seemed to uncannily control the weather was a testament to that coolness.

"More like _Hans_. Fucking trumpets." The usually mild-mannered David muttered, the blonde nodding in agreement.

David and Flynn traded snide remarks about the assistant trumpet section leader and Elsa was content to just stand there and listen to her second family-or, as Flynn liked to say, '_brothers from another mother'_. It was an unbearably hot summer day for the first football game of the season in mid August. It also didn't help that it was a noon game and their heavy uniforms were made of one hundred percent polyester. Midnight black bib pants with a thin gold strip down the length of the leg and shiny black shoes (_with knee high black socks, KNEE HIGH or you'll look like an idiot_) covered the lightest pair of running shorts she had. Her tee shirt stuck to wherever her sports bra didn't cover underneath the double thick black and green and purple jacket that zipped up, buttoned up, then buttoned and snapped again with a gold sash to make her feel finely trussed like a burrito. Her long platinum hair was in a high ponytail that she would easily be able to put up. They had been allowed to unhook the necks of their jackets, and upside down black shakos were carefully watched over with pristine white gloves and fluffy plumes inside. By the end of the game, the palms of every single pair of gloves would be dirty, but probably wouldn't get washed until the end of the season. The students had figured out that as long as the backs of their hands stayed white, they could pass inspection. Elsa overlooked this, but only because she was constantly guilty of staining hers with slide grease and valve oil. It was only fair.

"Hey babe."

The soft feminine voice of her sophomore girlfriend, Anna, husked lowly in her ear and made her heart leap into her throat.

"_JESUS_!"

She couldn't help the startled screech that ripped from her lips, sending her entire section and her playful girlfriend into roaring fits of laughter when she nearly jumped out of her skin. A group of tenor saxes had been passing and a fiery-haired Irish girl, Merida, quietly played the jaws theme as she slunk by, making everyone laugh harder. Elsa glowered at her section, a blush heating her fair skin as she turned and pouted at her snickering girlfriend. The sophomore was clad in black lycra pants that were a second skin on her slender thighs, but flowed about her calves and black dance sneakers. A sleeveless racer-back tunic of dark green plush velvet and metallic gold paneling reached the middle of her thighs. Her red hair was twisted up in a uniform bun like the rest of the girls on the guard, and dark heavy stage eye makeup made her laughing blue eyes pop. A few of her fingertips were taped and grasping her heavily taped white wooden rifle, and her toned bare arms were tanned and covered in freckles.

"_Anna…_" She whined, flapping her arms about gracelessly, but still aware of her instrument and shako.

"I couldn't help myself. You're just too easy to scare!" The red head giggled, trying to catch one of her flustered girlfriend's hands.

"You're a bitch sometimes, y'know that?" Elsa let her hand get caught.

"_ELSA SAID A BAD WORD._" Flynn screeched, doing his best impression of the woman he was picking on.

The blonde was sorely tempted to chuck her mouthpiece at the boorish man, but settled for flipping him off behind her back where is was most discrete since she was technically breaking the band's 'Disney rule'.

"_ELSA FLIPPED ME OFF."_ He screeched again, trying not to laugh, watching the blonde's shoulders stiffen.

"Anna, give me your rifle. There's a dog behind me I need to take out back behind the shed." The quip was punctuated with the most dry of wit that made the people around her snort with laughter.

"Nah, I like it when you get teased." She winked cheekily, her phrasing obviously meant to be a seductively cheesy double entendre.

"Oh for heaven's sake." Elsa muttered, fighting a warming blush that threatened to betray how she really felt about the red head's teasing. "Why are you here, what do you want."

The younger woman grinned at the blonde's horribly faked hostility and twined their fingers together. She couldn't help but bite her lip at the half smirk that pulled at Elsa's lips, really wishing that she could kiss her.

"Well, I hadn't seen you all morning since we were running drill at the back of the field while you all warmed up and then went straight to full rehearsal…" She pouted, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Your life is so _hard_, Anna." Elsa grinned and earned herself a dramatic eye roll. "What are you doing later tonight?"

"Hopefully you."

Elsa's brows shot to her hairline at the inappropriate comment, but couldn't help but return the leer she had been pinned with.

"_Really_ now."

Their blatant flirting was abruptly ended by a few short blasts on the head drum major's whistle.

"_TWENTY-FOUR! TIME TO GO! STEP OFF IN FOUR!_"

The goofy atmosphere quickly shifted to one of excitement as people rose to their feet and began to pull on gloves and shakos. From next to her, Flynn bellowed _DON YOUR CHICKENS!_ and she couldn't help but call back with the rest of her section and some of the other surrounding bandies in a cacophony of clucks and rooster calls. Elsa shot Anna a wink and bent to scoop up her bucket hat, suppressing a grin when a slender hand rubbed at her lower back. She grabbed her plume and gloves from their resting place and caught her hair in the black shako, quickly tucking fly-aways up into the leather and shifting it about until it felt comfortable as she straightened. The shiny black chinstrap was deftly tucked under her jaw and she held her plume out to her girlfriend. Anna plucked it from her grasp and pushed it home on the top of the hat just above her brow. The short bill was down low over her eyes, giving her a solemn appearance of military personnel. A bright smile tugged at her mouth while she wriggled her gloves on and the red head couldn't help but lean in and kiss her on the cheek, leaving a bright red stamp of her lips on the soft skin. Off to the side, the Trombone section including their best friend Kristoff bellowed their _BONERS_ cheer and broke like a football huddle.

"Hot dogs in the third quarter?" Anna asked as the students in the half-bowl stands above their heads began to jump in time with some blasting ACDC song.

"I'll see you then."

Before Elsa knew it, half the band was up and ready and jogging out of the concrete tunnel adjacent to the visitor's side of the stands, Anna with them. Around her, the remaining half of the band fell into loose lines and gathered their instruments. She registered the drum line trooping out to the center of the visitor's sideline, their chinstraps under their noses and their jaws set. Adrenaline thrummed hotly through her veins as she scooped up her instrument and adjusted the mouthpiece bore in her instrument, following the lines as they quickly poured out of the tunnel adjacent to the home sideline and suddenly feeling at ease under the beating sun. Her slender fingers rapidly depressed the three valves to make sure they were still properly oiled as she strode out onto the groomed field.

The double level concrete stands broken by sections of dark green plastic chairs on the home sideline and a gleaming glass field house above the opposite end zone. The music blared over the loudspeakers that framed the massive video screen high above at her back. Down on the field, in front of tens of thousands of people in a stadium that held sixty thousand and was quickly filling to full capacity, Elsa felt right at home. The huge Viking ship on the opposite side of the field was leaking smoke from machines, and the music ground to a halt just as the last members of the band fell into parade rest. The lead snare started taps and lead the silent drum line out into the very center of the field to stand over the painted visage of a snarling Viking. The blonde bit back an excited grin and kept still as one of the announcers started pregame, last in order on the line closest to the sideline.

"_Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to today's opening football game with the Southern Isle Tigers and your very own Arendelle Vikings!"_

Roars reverberated in her chest and made her bones rattle. She relished the rush. A faint whistle broke through over the chaos and blasted two more shrill screams, the entire band silently snapping to attention on the third beat. Her arms moved quickly and efficiently to hoist the massive hunk of brass into position, exactly perpendicular to the ground and her eyes peering just over the top of her transparent blue mouthpiece. Her back was ramrod straight and the muscles in her chest relaxed to let the well-conditioned muscles in her shoulders and arms carry the entire weight of the marching baritone like Triton had taught them. They had recently acquired Dr. Triton as their director the season before, and he had vetoed many of the more high school-esque cheers and vocal commands set in motion by the previous interim director. All of the older marchers had been extremely glad for the shift that made them more of a Drum Corp, thankful that Triton had realized how unprofessional they could sound at times. Yes, it was their job to be energetic and the very definition of positive school spirit… but not to the point where it interfered with the menacing composure the Marching Vikings had been well known for in the past. There was a particular façade to uphold after all.

"_Please welcome to the field to kick off pregame, your very own Marching VIKINGS!"_

It was deafening. Elsa never knew how she never missed the downbeat, or anyone else for that matter concerning the jet engine they were inside of… But the cymbals crashed on cue and the drum line was out of the gate at a brisk two-twenty beat per minute cadence. Their feet hit the ground with direct precision with their left foot hitting on one and three, but from their waist up they were as still as statues carved from marble. Right when the cadence had started, the lines had begun to speed down the field. The leaders ended up marking the outside edges of the block while the followers sped behind them to fill the yard lines in like a rippling green wave. While the body of the band oozed onto the field, the three drum majors had strutted spectacularly to their podiums, feet high and back leaning so far back Elsa was always afraid they were going to fall.

Her legs carried her swiftly to her mark on the forty-five yard line, five yards off of the home sideline. He feet stayed exactly on the beat, and she knew that from the side view the band's striped legs moved the mechanical precision. The two majorettes blew past her to the front of the field in shimmering gold and green, flaming batons sending off enough heat that it felt like an open oven had passed by her face. Her eyes paid no heed to them nor to the extremely fit and almost indecently dressed dance team spread out in front of her, crystal eyes locked on their head drum major as he clambered up the podium after depositing his hat neatly on the ground. The young man's blindingly white polyester arms locked into the beat and led the cadence for six more frantic measures before jolting into a one-sixty count, half the time and the army of striped legs following suit.

Four counts, horns snapping up to attention on the last beat. Large brass bells flashed in the bright sun in a single controlled movement, halting ten degrees above parallel to the ground, arms strong and solid in perfect ninety-degree angles at the elbows. Four more counts to take as big of a breath as you physically can and adjust your lips on your mouthpiece, whether it be metal or plastic or reed.

_And… NOW._

A rapturously symphonic wave of sound erupted from the field. Six blasts of major chords in the steps of a grand fanfare issued from the band with the energy of a stampede. The crowd roared even louder as the entire band snappily performed a perfect about-face while the drum line carried the energy with a continuation of the matching cadence. The fanfare rang out again, a half step higher on the chromatic scale towards the visitor's side packed with students. Elsa felt the uproar vibrate in her chest and couldn't help the wild grin that nearly split her face. The drum line took over once again and the Marching Vikings executed one more about-face to finish out the fanfare with a grand _ritardando_. She vaguely registered _THE MARCHING VIKINGS!_ shouted over the loudspeaker, but her eyes were glued to the head drum major counting off their fight song as her lungs burned from the effort of holding the final chord.

And they were off; crawling into formations that swooped and swept across the field in calculated shapes to spell out the initials AUV first to the home sideline and then to the visitors. The crowd clapped in time with the fight song and bellowed along:

_Cheer for Are'delle Vikings!_

_Cheer for old A-U!_

_We know we're the finest!_

_Look out, we're comin' through!_

_**GO VIKINGS!**_

They played through the fight song twice, just a little winded by the end. Dr. Triton took the podium next and they gracefully meandered through the Alma Mater _Love and Praise_, then stood solemnly as the announcer asked the crowds to rise to their feet and remove their hats for the National Anthem. The rendition was written specifically for Arendelle University, a grand and well-composed piece that cut out unnecessary flourishes and runs, opting for powerful melodies and full-bodied sound. Once again the crowd cheered as the band finished out the Alma Mater, only to rise in jubilation as a Lockheed Hercules plane flanked by two Sikorsky Jayhawk helicopters of the Coast Guard rumbled over the stadium. The field shook underneath the soles of her shoes and Elsa wanted to whoop and shout and jump around with the rest of the spectators. As the aircraft faded into the distance, Triton let his drum major back up onto the podium to lead them directly into two more marches that placed the band at the opposite end of the field to act as a human tunnel where the imposing Viking ship belched gray smoke. A bone-chilling video about Vikings and plundering and taking no prisoner rang out from the enormous scoreboard as the huge football athletes poured out of the door in the fake ship. The behemoths of pure muscle and testosterone hooted and hollered as they leapt about, huddling around their head coach in a hyped-up mass of energy. The bright sun glinted off their black helmets and cast their faces into shadow behind the substantial facemasks. A series of one long and four short whistle blasts counted them off into two more repetitions of the fight song, once for the team to take the field and a second for them to exit.

By this point, sweat was pouring off of their bodies, faces were flushed, chests were heaving, muscles burning after the high-octane eighteen-minute performance, but smiles couldn't be wider. Shouts of "_Off the field!" _and "_Hurry! Get back!" and "Quick, it's almost kick-off!"_ rang out among them as they all broke into a fast-clipped jog. En masse they rounded the visitor's sideline and poured back into the tunnel, clapping each other on the back and cradling their instruments close. Fans called out and cheered them on as they passed, which prompted some of the band geeks to answer in return. Somewhere along the thirty-five yard line Elsa caught up to Anna and carefully bumped her with her shoulder as she fell into stride next to her. The red head beamed at her, teeth flashing in an ecstatic smile while she clutched her rifle and green and black flag.

"You guys did great." Elsa managed to gasp, peering out from under the bill of her shako.

"Thanks! You guys did too! Way better than this morning…"

Elsa laughed in agreement, slowing to a walk as the band bottle-necked at the bottom of the concrete stairs just inside the tunnel. Her girlfriend pulled her into a PG-rated side hug and whispered a "_See you later."_ before peeling off to store her equipment. Elsa watched her go, eyes lingering a bit lower than they should for just a moment, but the adrenaline of the crowd pulled her back up and out into the sun just in time to see the Arendelle kicker send the leather oblong ball sailing through the air with an impressive boot. It didn't take long for her to remember why she did what she did, and proceeded to yell herself hoarse within the first ten minutes of the game. Yes, it was damn good to be in Marching Band.


End file.
